Chapter 3: The Leak About Love
The morning sunlight felt cruel, slicing through the blinds of her small apartment like judgment. It wasn't warmth; it was a spotlight exposing every flaw, every secret, every moment she had hidden behind quiet competence.
Her phone vibrated violently on the wooden table, buzzing like an alarm no one could turn off. Notifications piled up in terrifying speed:
"Scandal of the Century: Ralph Del Mar and Staffer in Secret Affair""Was the Congressman's Success Bought With Love?""Political Insider or Lover? Sarah Cruz Exposed."
Sarah froze. The words blurred through tears she hadn't realized were falling. Her reputation, her carefully built, meticulously curated reputation, was collapsing in real time.
She ran her hand over her face, feeling the tightness of panic. But beneath the shock, beneath the fear, there was steel. Always had been.
Because Sarah Cruz wasn't just any woman behind a powerful man.
She had been educated at the prestigious West Point Academy, a prodigy in leadership, strategy, and communication. Graduating top of her class, she had earned recognition for her sharp mind and her uncanny ability to read people, a skill that made her indispensable to politicians like Ralph.
But intelligence alone didn't define her. She was a black belt in multiple martial arts, Taekwondo, Aikido, and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, training that had taught her discipline, precision, and the power of silent action. While others relied on chaos or intimidation, Sarah moved through crises like water, calm, controlled, and ready to strike if necessary.
Her résumé was formidable: communication strategist, crisis manager, tactician, and now, the unseen shield behind Ralph Del Mar's public image. Yet none of that mattered as her phone continued to scream her name across social media, turning her into the target of a scandal she had never asked for.
She scrolled through the feeds, heart racing. Every manipulated clip, every sarcastic meme, every insinuation burned her carefully curated life into pixels for the world to dissect.
Her first instinct was to call Ralph. To tell him, to beg him to act. But she remembered his voice from yesterday evening, calm and unwavering:
"Do not respond. Trust me."
Trust him? How could she, when the world had already decided she was guilty?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Every word she typed felt like admitting complicity.I am not involved.This is false.Please, believe me.
She deleted. Rewrote. Deleted again. Panic threatened to drown the steel within her, but she refused to give it a foothold.
A knock at the door startled her. It wasn't the reporters, not yet. She froze, muscles tensing instinctively. Years of martial arts training made her body react before her mind did. She moved silently to the door, peering through the peephole.
Nothing. Just shadows in the morning light.
She exhaled slowly, but the calm was fragile. She knew reporters would be here soon, cameras flashing, microphones thrust in her face. Her heart pounded, but not with fear alone. She was ready. She always was.
Because Sarah Cruz didn't crumble under pressure. She adapted, analyzed, and struck when necessary. That was why Ralph trusted her. That was why she had survived every political storm, every media trap, every scandal before this. But this, this felt different.
This was personal.
The first call came from her editor.
"Sarah, you need to comment. Now. People are calling. If you don't say something, they'll assume it's true."
Her voice was steady, but only just. "I… I don't have a statement yet."
"Then draft something. Anything. The public isn't waiting for hesitation."
She hung up and sank to the couch. Draft something? She had always been the voice behind Ralph, the one polishing speeches, correcting misstatements, controlling narratives, guarding reputations. Now the target was her.
Her eyes fell on the framed photo of Ralph at a ribbon-cutting ceremony, smiling at the cameras, unaware that the world was twisting their reality. She had spent years building a fortress around him, and now, the walls had collapsed.
Her phone buzzed again. A message from Ralph:
"Do not respond. Trust me."
Sarah stared at the screen, hand trembling. How could she trust him when her name was being dragged across the media? But deep down, she knew Ralph. His calm, his calculation, his protective instincts. He wasn't ignoring the storm. He was preparing for it.
So she waited.
The first reporter arrived an hour later. Cameras flashed, microphones thrust forward, voices shouting over each other:
"Sarah Cruz! Are you admitting to an affair with Congressman Ralph Del Mar?""Did you cover up political corruption for him?""Are you responsible for the leaks?"
Sarah pressed her palms to her face, grounding herself. She could feel the muscle memory from her martial arts training: calm breathing, controlled stance, steady heart. She moved with the confidence of someone who had faced danger countless times. But this wasn't a dojo or a fight ring. This was public opinion, and the weapons were lies.
A security officer from Ralph's team whispered: "Sarah, breathe. Step outside slowly. Don't panic."
She nodded and followed, the weight of thousands of eyes on her. Every step was calculated, every movement precise, just like her training. She would survive this, she would endure.
Back in Ralph's office, he monitored the news cycle, fury hidden behind a mask of composure. Every retweet, every share, every trending hashtag linked her to him, distorted and weaponized.
He clenched the edge of his desk. They're going after her now.
Her safety wasn't just physical, it was her dignity, her career, her life. And he had failed to protect her from the world he controlled with his influence.
Meanwhile, in the car that would take her to a safe location, Sarah sat silently, absorbing the magnitude of the public storm. She wanted to cry, scream, run, disappear, but she didn't.
Not anymore.
Her mind, sharpened by years at West Point, her discipline honed in martial arts, and her unmatched skill as a strategist, began working. She analyzed the viral posts, the sources, the networks. Every flaw, every misinformation could be countered. She began to draft a mental strategy, laying out her next moves as if preparing for a tactical mission.
Because Sarah Cruz didn't break. She adapted. She survived.
At the safehouse, Ralph finally spoke, his presence grounding her.
"You're not alone," he said quietly. "They may be attacking your reputation, but I won't let them touch you personally. Not now. Not ever."
Her lips trembled, and for a moment, the woman behind the congressman, the strategist, the silent protector, the unstoppable force, felt vulnerable. But beneath that vulnerability, determination ignited.
If the world wanted her to fall, they were going to fight harder than she ever imagined. And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't fight alone.